


Checklist

by battle_cat



Series: Together [19]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cunnilingus, F/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“S’ not a checklist, y’know. You don’t have to…prove you like everything.”</p><p>“I’ll be the judge of that,” she says. Because she <em>likes</em> liking everything, pushing at the edges of sensation and finding new things and claiming them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checklist

It happens with his head between her legs. Something she usually enjoys easily, his soft mouth and clever fingers working her up into wet noisy spasms of pleasure.

But this time his fingers are in her twitching cunt and then they slide out and trail down and she feels a digit press against her asshole and—

“ _Don’t,_ ” she hisses, but her muscles seize up anyway before she can control the reaction, all the loose lazy post-orgasmic pleasure shoved aside by sudden terror.

Max pulls away, eyes shut, instantly aware he’s made a mistake. “M’sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t like that,” she grits out between trying to breathe against the steel bands that have suddenly tightened around her ribs. She’s dimly aware she’s curled herself into a ball, her legs up against her stomach, an old defensive reflex.

“M’sorry. Sorry,” Max is saying in that low calming voice you might use for a frightened child. Which, she supposes, is exactly who reacted to being touched like that.

“You’re okay,” he soothes, and she’s come down enough from the wave of panic to let him pull her into his arms, still curled up like she expects pain at any minute. He runs a warm, steady hand over her back until she can unfold herself with a shaky sigh.

“Fuck,” she mumbles against his shoulder.

“Hasn’t happened in a while,” he says, his hand still rubbing long soothing strokes along her spine.

“Thought I was done with it.” No such luck.

“My fault.”

“It is _not_ your fault.” He is the good part, and she feels a flare of anger that he could even think that.

“Mm. Should’ve asked. Before I touched you somewhere new.” His way of asking without words, with a careful touch or a questioning hum, is usually fine for them. Except when it isn’t.

“You didn’t know.” She curls herself tighter against his body, letting the rhythm of his breathing calm the last of the shaking in her limbs.

He never asks for details, beyond what not to do again, and she rarely volunteers them. She hardly ever talks about that time at all, certainly doesn’t want it in her bed with Max. But sometimes it doesn’t matter what she wants.

“He— It was punishment. Put something in my ass. Hurt a lot,” she mumbles. Sometimes she has no idea, what dredges up an old lingering shard of terror. But in this case the memory is crystal clear.

His arms curl a little tighter around her. “M’sorry,” he says again.

“Stop apologizing.”

“Okay.”

 

She doesn’t say anything more about it, and she knows he’ll never bring it up, will just scrupulously avoid anything she says she doesn’t like without further comment. But the next day she starts thinking about how there were so many things she didn’t think she could ever like, until Max came along, and how maybe there are more.

 

She waits through half a dozen nights of blissful fucking, sweet and hot and perfect with the past staying firmly in its grave, before she brings it up again. They’re lying spent and sweaty, Max on his back with her draped half-over him, fingers tracing idly through the hair on his chest.

“Was thinking,” she says, sitting up on an elbow. “You should try playing with my ass again.”

He snorts at her bluntness, but then his gaze is searching. “You didn’t like it.”

“Wanna see what it’s like, with you. Maybe I would.”

“’S not…enjoyable for me, when you’re scared,” he says carefully without looking at her. “Can’t concentrate on anything else.”

“Me either. But…I used to be scared of a lot of things, and then I tried them, and it was different, with you. So maybe I wouldn’t be.”

“S’ not a checklist, y’know. You don’t have to…prove you like everything.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she says. Because she _likes_ liking everything, pushing at the edges of sensation and finding new things and claiming them.

A little twitch at the corner of his mouth at that. She settles back down against his shoulder.

“Is it something women can like? Having something in there?”

“Some do.”

“But there’s no…it’s not like men, right? Where there’s a thing up there that’ll make you come?”

“Mm. Not the same. But…lotta nerves. Sensitive. Some people like it.”

“I want to find out.”

“Mm.” It’s the kind of hum where she can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking. But then, after a minute, “Should, mm, have some oil or something.”

“I can get that.” She knew War Boys used palm oil. Never too hard to swipe a bit from the garages, when it was also used for engines.

“Doesn’t, ahh, have to be anything big inside.” He turns to look at her. “Could just be a little bit of finger. Like this much.” He slips the tip of his index finger into her mouth, up to the first joint.

She slides her mouth down to the next joint and gives his finger a suck before withdrawing. “Or maybe that much,” she says.

 

He makes her come twice with just his mouth, soft hands running everywhere over her skin, until she’s loose and warm and floaty with pleasure. Then he eases her up to straddle his lap while he sits up against the wall, close enough to the edge of the bed that he can reach the little pot of oil on the floor.

He spends some time just kneading the flesh of her ass, something she has no trouble enjoying, while his mouth wanders over all the places on her throat and shoulders and breasts that make her shiver, until she feels ready to melt against him, her half-arm around the back of his neck and her fingers twined in his hair.

She flinches when his oily fingers slide down between her asscheeks, but he doesn’t press into her or even rub, just keeps his fingers resting gently there until she gets used to the sensation.

She rests her forehead against his, biting her lip a little as she pushes away the lingering tension. It’s a skill she knows by now, something that takes concentration but gets a little easier each time, like learning a new move in sparring drills.

“Okay?” His other hand is on her back, steadying but not confining. She nods.

He starts moving his oily fingers, tiny circles tracing slowly around her hole, and it feels…odd and vulnerable and a bit ticklish, but not entirely unpleasant. A huff of nervous laughter escapes her. He gives her a questioning look. “Feels weird,” she mutters. “But not bad. Kind of…nice.” He’s right; the skin there is very sensitive, and the more he touches her there the more she starts to feel an answering ache in her cunt.

“Nice,” she repeats softly, her forehead still resting against his. She realizes her hips have started rocking a little.

He gets more oil on his fingers and smears, and this time he punctuates the circles with a press of the pad of his finger against her asshole. It sends a skitter through her, but it’s not the uncontrollable clench of terror but something different, that hot shudder of pushing into new territory, somewhere between fear and excitement.

“Mm?”

She nods against his face, breath coming out in hot rushes now.

He circles and circles and then pushes just the tip of his finger into her. She gasps as her muscles try to clench up around the intrusion. Feels more than hears his hum of concern as her fingers dig into his hair.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes. “Just…distract me.”

He ducks his head, mouth finding the hollow of her throat, the ridge of her collarbone, dipping down to lave at her nipple, a soft trail of warm sultry sensation to focus on. She doesn’t even notice she’s relaxed until he starts moving his finger, just slightly. It’s a strange feeling, but it doesn’t hurt, and she thinks she maybe even likes it.

“Good,” she whispers as his finger slides slowly in and out, never more than an inch or two inside her.

“Soft inside,” he hums against her neck, still moving with that slow, easy rhythm. The ache in her cunt is back. “Can you come like this?” The hand between her shoulderblades drifts lower, to rest against the curve of her lower back. “Let’s find out.”

It’s a strange thrill to have his hand leave her back and drift over to her clit, to feel herself pressed between two sets of fingers front and back. She moans when he starts up a slick rhythm against her clit, a slow inexorable build that has her rocking against his touch, and every time she moves forward and back she pushes against one of his hands, and— _fuck_.

Her orgasm takes her by surprise, a sudden hot clench of her body between his hands. She rides it out gasping against the side of his neck, her fingers clutched in his hair.

When the waves of pleasure fade he slides his finger out carefully, wipes it on the edge of the sheet and pulls her close.

“Fuck,” she mutters, appreciative this time. She can feel his cock pressed hard between them, ignored until now, and, well, she’ll make sure to remedy that shortly. Right now she turns his face toward her and kisses and kisses, smiling every time their lips break apart, flushed not just with pleasure but with triumph. 

It’s its own kind of victory, working her body through something she’d only known how to fear, melting it down between their skin and turning it back into something she could wield for herself.

“Told you”—a breath into his mouth between kisses—“we could make it nice”—a swipe of her tongue across his—“together.”


End file.
